


What We Understand

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [68]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Character, Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Pride, Strength, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:56:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 69: Forgive.  It's Dean's turn now, for a heart to heart with his father.  Toronto Arc continues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Understand

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

John was frankly impressed with the show Dean put on for him, elaborating his journey through the woods to the field they were currently occupying, and the strategy that got him past John’s many traps. The boy had proven beyond a shadow of a doubt that though he may have gotten rusty, he’d picked the woodscraft back up flawlessly, and learned a few things while was at it. Honor and integrity. He was proud.

“Dean,” he said, as the boy gave him the last details about walking through the grasses that surround them still.

A stricken look crosses the kid’s face. “What did I do wrong, sir?” The voice is quiet and subdued.

He gets a firmer grip on his son. The damn demon, it’s wearing on all of them. “Dean. There was not a single thing you should have done differently. I’m proud of you, son.” His own words are quiet, he’d like to stand and shout that last bit from the hilltops, but Dean would never believe him. John Winchester is a reserved man, not given to extreme displays, and will never be. He can’t change that about himself, though sometimes he’d like to. But it’s not necessary, not for survival, not for the hunt, not for his relationship with his boys. The quiet weight of the words, the strong grip of John’s hand on his shoulder, it lifts a cloud that’s surrounded Dean for weeks now, and the boy breathes easier, feels more centered.

John’s proud of him. He succeeded. He lets the amazing feeling wash over him – dad scared him more than he wanted to admit, a few minutes ago when he flipped him over his knee. Convinced he was about to receive yet another John Winchester special, he’d retreated into himself, unhappy, but he was fine, it was just dad’s way of paying him back for the unnecessarily painful hold down, a little scare like that. His father is proud of him. He gives the older hunter a shy look, not sure what to say. 

John’s pride in his sons is limited, he’s never been one to give florid praise, or to use praise as encouragement. Always, John has said something to make his boys stop and think – never anything hurtful – when they’re struggling, rather than giving them the kind of false praise that teachers and other parents always seemed to be doing. Dean knows that, and frankly, after first grade, he preferred it to the saccharine, falsetto voice of the teacher he’d had that year, the one that barely covered the pity for the little boy dressed in second hand clothes who always brought peanut butter sandwiches for lunch and never took no for an answer.

“You need to know that, Dean. You need to know that I’m always, always proud of you. You’re a credit to everything I’ve ever taught you, you never shirk your duty.” That gets him a wry look. “Yeah, you get lazy sometimes, kiddo. But that’s what I’m here for, right?”

“Yeah. Where would you be without a job to do?” The words slip out, a little more bitterly than Dean intended them to, and John’s hand moves off his shoulder. Dean’s ready for the outburst, and then his father surprises him, sliding an arm around his waist and hauling him in close. He’s used to wrestling with his father, knows he isn’t going over his dad’s knee, just being pulled in close, the way dad’s done when he’s been injured and not letting him in to check the injury. Then a callused hand is bringing his chin up to meet John’s eyes.

“Without a job to do, I would be right here, Dean, with you. That’s where I’d want to be. Nowhere else.”

“Sam-“

“That goes without saying. This isn’t between me and Sammy. This is between me and you.” He pauses, studying the green eyes looking back at him. Dean’s holding something back, still. “You’re old enough I can say this now, I think, without getting an argument back. The demon, the damn demon we’ve been after most of your life. It’s not just revenge, son. I think you can see that clearly now. The hunt, it’s keeping you and Sam safe from it, even though it throws us into unnecessary danger. And I seriously doubt that if we had the kind of perfect Midwestern lifestyle that I wish we’d had, that you’d be in a profession where you weren’t risking your neck, because you were that kind of kid even before your brother was born.”

Dean’s thought about that. About being an EMT. Or a fireman. After all the years evading the cops, he can’t quite bring himself to look at that, but Sam pointed out once years ago that with all their experience, either of them would be an asset to the police force, or one of the government agencies. After that they sometimes nudged each other silently when the X-Files came on, no words, just that reminder of a motion.

“And now, we’re coming down on it’s ass, Dean. And you’re good, my boy, there isn’t anyone I’d rather have with me for this fight. And we’re gonna take this fucker down, for always. When it’s all over, we’ll have each other, son.” John’s voice is a little choked now. “And I’ve never had any doubts that you’d be just the one for the job, either, because I don’t think anyone else could live up to being my son the way you do.” He can’t say any more than that. The words don’t really exist. But he’s gotten through, and Dean’s eyes are shining with unshed tears, so he shifts his grip, pulls his boy in closer, kisses him on the forehead, gathers him into his arms. 

They sit like that for a long time, Dean practically in his Dad’s lap, yet far enough removed that both of them have their dignity, because Winchesters are not emotional, and they don’t cry, and those aren’t tears Dad’s thumbing away from his cheeks, nor are those tears shimmering in John’s eyes, tears that John’s had too much practice containing to let fall. Not while Dean needs his strength at any rate. His arms are around his son, letting him soothe himself with the feeling of Dean’s regular, even breaths, motion that tells him Dean heard what he needed to. 

John looks around, the meadow overlooks a deeper part of the valley. He sat just on the ridge over there with Sam the other day, feeling the strength of the mountain running through his spine, and he can still feel it now. What’s different is the fact that he feels more like he’s sheltering this son, his oldest son, rather than supporting him. It’s not how he usually thinks of the two of them, he usually thinks of Dean as his own support, of the two of them being support for one another, so they can shelter Sammy, keep the younger boy safe. No, he thinks. This is his job, to shelter Dean. He’s not sure why he was too thick to realize it before, but he knows it now, and John Winchester has never shirked a job in his life.

**Author's Note:**

> Sountrack: Ars Nova - The Secret Forest


End file.
